while we're on the topic of unorganized thought

I haven't really posted anything cohesive for a while. You know, where the entire post follows one topic or train of thought. Sure, I could - but then I'd only be updating my blog once a week and that definitely won't do.

Now that I'm working again, I'm trying to juggle my career in with everything else that I've got happening. To date, I haven't yet reached the "cruising altitude" where I am successfully implementing days of flawless execution. Instead, it feels like I'm caught in a pocket of turbulence and there is dirty laundry and bushels of clothes that the children have outgrown but have yet to be organized - flying everywhere.

They are covering up my car keys, wallet, and cell phone with the dead battery.

I can't go anywhere, buy anything or talk to anyone. One might think I'd be able to get a host of things done under those circumstances, but I haven't been able to summon the quiet peace of mind that is necessary for me to create any kind of cohesive post (regarding organization, perhaps? Four weeks later?). Yet, because I have so many things to report on (and so little time), I'm clumping everything together in one blog entry and calling it good.

But also, over there, << , on my sidebar, I'm posting little mini blogs (140 characters or less) through Twitter. I know that there is a whole lot more that you can do with this program than what I'm doing ... but for now, this works great for me. It's like a rapid river stream of consciousness. Because when I've got a lot on my plate, I like to distract myself with more ways to not get things done. That's just the way I roll.

*********

On to the subject of nicknames.

For my children, William goes by Will, or, more recently, "Will the Pill." Elizabeth goes by Beebay, or Zizbeth. Although, come to think of it, these aren't nicknames as much as they are her siblings trying to sincerely pronounce her actual name. Carolyn is Gracie. Or, more appropriately, Gwacie, to William and Elizabeth.

I'm all for nicknames and although we largely use our children's formal names, sometimes I will call them an abbreviated version of their name. Some people don't like nicknames because they think it is too confusing for the child ... which I can understand.

Then there are people that have nicknames that are completely unrelated to the child's name at all. Sometimes, I'll call our kids "Love Bug" or "Little Peanut" just because these are terms of endearment for me.

Yesterday at the park, a four-year-old boy was playing with our children. His mother came over and introduced him as "Pooh Bear." I thought that was really cute, because he did kind of resemble Winnie with blond hair and a round belly. But all along, I was thinking, surely that's not the child's real name... that's got to be a term of endearment.

But at one point, he started to run away from his mother and in to the parking lot. She was calling after him, louder and louder to the point that she was hollering "POOH BEAR!! STOP!! RIGHT NOW!! POOH BEAR!! IF YOU DON'T COME BACK HERE, WE ARE GOING HOME!! POOH BEAR!! DO YOU WANT TO GO HOME?!"

If there is one time I would unequivocally use our children's full name, it would be when they are running full speed in to a parking lot. So, if that is indeed his name, unless he opts to go by "PB", something tells me that not only is this kid going to be ruthlessly teased, it's going to be tough finding "honey" when he grows up. Much like the girl I met whose name was Syphilis. No kidding, it was pronounced "Sih-phyllis." Her mother picked out the name after reading it on a sign in the doctor's office the day she learned she was expecting.

*********

Have you heard of the Sinus Rinse?

It's similar to the Oprah-endorsed Neti Pot, but purportedly better??

Earlier this year I had the flu. It lasted, with variable intensity, for almost 12 weeks. For three months, I was sick. I fell ill a few days after I crowed about how to STAY HEALTHY!! and was so sick I could hardly pick my head off the floor. Then, I had bronchitis and a sinus infection so bad I thought for sure I was on my out.

One day, while I was at the pharmacy aimlessly searching for something to make me feel better, I spotted the Sinus Rinse. It was right next to the Neti Pots that I'd heard my mother talking about (after she saw them on Oprah. Of course). So, I picked one up and read the label.

I made the purchase - brought it home - followed the instructions - rinsed my sinuses - had the sensation of snorting a nose full of sea water - and felt better almost instantly. Within a few days, I was 100% better. Charlie started to feel sick a few weeks ago and I convinced him to use my Sinus Rinse. Which he was vehemently opposed to because Charlie does not like sharing ANYTHING that pertains to personal hygiene. But because he was slipping fast, he gave it a shot. He did it again over the course of the next three days and boom, the cold never manifested.

This could be purely coincidence, but I think not.

The argument that I've heard as to why nasal irrigation works, is because colds and flus originate in your nose. Nasal irrigation helps to mechanically clean out the "nooks and crannies" of your nasal passageways, which can provide relief from colds, allergies, and a host of other sinus troubles.

While at Costco last week, I felt like I'd hit the jackpot when I saw that they were selling a package containing two Sinus Rinses for those families that CANNOT share personal hygiene items for around $18.00. This was a great deal, considering I spent $14.00 on one at our local pharmacy. (Sadly, the Costco twofer deal is only in California).

Because I have a streak of practicality much like my mother who thinks that toilet paper is a great gift, I bought several of the two-pack Sinus Rinse kits and plan to give them away at various birthday parties I attend this summer.

Happy Birthday! Here's a douche, for your nose.

life with sisters

Whereas the girls were striving to be pretty princesses...


William's intention was to be a scary monster.


In pink crushed velvet Dora pajamas with faux fur sleeves.

hear me out

If you are doing something that you know - or suspect - is wrong, don't do it.

But if you feel that you must, don't document your activities in writing or take photographs of yourself in the act. Even though you might think that your words and pictures are safe, there is always the chance that they could be forwarded to an unintended recipient. Or, your computer (or cell phone) might fall in to someone else's hands and they will hack in to your system and discover all of your secrets.

So just ask yourself this...

Is this "thing" that you are doing something that you would want for everyone that knows you to know about? How would you feel if your "little secret" was presented to a court of law - or broadcast on television? If the prospect of that makes you a little uneasy, then whatever you do, do NOT put your thoughts in writing and/or upload electronic pictures of yourself.

For instance, if you work for a chemical company and you are trying to cover up toxicological data that shows certain substances definitively cause cancer ... don't send out an e-mail directing your personnel to "Destroy any and all data immediately!" If you do, there is a good chance that the police will come knocking on your door, and slap you in cuffs.

Similarly, if you are having an affair, don't write all the details of your encounters in e-mail and include racy pictures of yourself. If (or more likely - when) you get caught, there is a good chance that your infuriated spouse will print out every single e-mail and photo, make multiple copies and hand these copies out (in tidy 1-inch binders), to everyone you know.

A little common sense goes a long way.

*****

If you have a healthy baby, your child should be capable of sleeping through the night by the time they are 10-months old.

Yes, they should.

They should not be waking up at 11:00 PM, 1:00 AM and 4:00 AM to eat.

No, they should not.

If you enjoy having a child wake up numerous times throughout the night and disrupt your sleep patterns, that's one thing. But if you are exhausted and irritated and losing patience with your child - and your spouse - and anyone who comes near you - do something about it. Prolonged sleep deprivation will wreak havoc on your emotional, physical, familial, and marital well being.

*****

Don't spend more than you earn. Putting yourself in to dire financial straights is very seldom a good idea.

For instance, if you buy a house and then decide that you can't afford the house, don't think for a minute that it will help matters if you take out cash advances on every single one of your credit cards.

Your bad financial situation will be a whole lot worse when you've got $100,000.00 in credit card debt on top of your mortgage.

*****

Don't waste your time or money on mini peanut butter cups. Twenty mini cups are the equivalent of two standard peanut butter cups. Not only do the mini peanut butter cups cost more per volume - they melt all over your hand when you grab them by the fistful.


And really. It's not like you could ever eat just one.

10K training. With triplets

I took the kids to the park today, thinking that maybe if I brought a few balls with me - they could chase after the balls - while I ran laps around the soccer field. Although they love to do this every other time we've ever been to the soccer field ... today, chasing balls wasn't an activity they were willing to embrace.

Instead, they wanted to catch a ride on the front of the jogging stroller while I ran back and forth. If it wasn't their turn to ride on the front of the stroller, they would run screaming after me, "Don't weave, mommy! DON'T WEAVE ME!!"

Although I did my best to convince them that I would never leave them in the park (which now that I think of it, is contradictory to what I told them yesterday - when it was time to go and I said I would leave them if they didn't get in the car), I only managed to run back and forth across the field twice before my children were worked in to a three-year-old hysterical crying frenzy. Yet, once I stopped running, the kids were perfectly content to look at beetles scurrying through the grass. And fill our potty chair to maximum capacity.

In the middle of a field.


They could have sat and looked at beetles while I ran laps around them ... but, no. That would have been much too convenient for me. So, I pulled out our trusty kite and ran with it while the kids chased after what I told them was Mr. Ray's shadow, and that is how I finished my 20-minutes of running.

Running after three kids is much different than running with three kids.

To accomplish the latter, all it takes is a little ingenuity, a portable potty chair, and the ability to not trip over kite string.

all I need is a larger dog door

I noticed that our children have been squatting down and peeing whenever they go in the back yard. When I saw them doing this yesterday, I asked why they weren't using the potty chair that I had put outside. All three of them started bouncing around, barking and excitedly exclaimed "Cuz' we are DOGS!"

Because I think quick on my feet, I told them that if they were dogs, maybe they'd like to eat dog food for dinner. Surely, they would take one bite of Molly's lamb and rice formula and decide that no, maybe being a dog wasn't a good idea, after all.

Of course they loved the sound of this. And as it would turn out, they loved the taste of kibble. Now, that's all they want to eat. For breakfast, lunch and dinner I hear, "Mommy, can we have DOG FOOD?!"


Because the potty training isn't going too well for one of the trio, I took someone's advice from a few months ago and recently handed my child a packet of wipes to clean up their own poopy bottom, after they went in their diaper. I thought that they would be dismayed at the thought of cleaning up their own mess, but alas, they enjoyed it.

So, I took someone else's advice and told my child that the next time they went poop in their diaper, I was putting them in a cold shower. I didn't believe that I could actually do this, I mean, it seems so cruel. But when I was awoken early in the morning one day last week, by my daughter who was laughing about the HUGE poop that she'd just made, I caught a glimpse of my desperate and frustrated self in the mirror with crazy hair and crazy eyes and was a little surprised that I was beyond excited about creating serious discomfort for my offspring.

Turns out, she loved the cold shower and has been asking to take one every day, since.

I've since decided that my life would be a whole lot easier if I just left out a big bowl of kibble and let them do their business in the yard.

a few little points to ponder (iv)

If a child doesn't like to eat the crust, they will eat an interesting pattern around the rim of their bread. Or bagel, which doesn't even have a crust ... but that is neither here nor there when you are three.

I don't know why our children don't like to eat the crust of bread. This isn't something they've learned from me ... because I love the crust. I think that an aversion to crusts is the nature of children. Much like it is in their nature to scream "ECHO!!" or "AARRGHH!!" whenever they are in any area that might cause a reflection of their sound waves.

Like a public restroom.

Or a canyon.

Or a church sanctuary.

Interestingly enough, when you take heels of bread - which are the texture and consistency of crust - to the pond to feed the ducks - those very children who have an aversion to crusts, will confiscate the bag of heels and stealthily try to consume every last one. They will delight in eating food that just a few moments earlier - during a picnic lunch - caused absolute repulsion.

So, if you are having a difficult time getting your children to eat their vegetables, try feeding them to the ducks. (The vegetables, that is.)

********

When I was at the store this past weekend, by myself, I saw a father shopping with his 2.5-year old twin girls. As I stood at the checkout counter next to him, I watched, with a gleam in my eye, as this man tried to purchase a few new pairs of pants and a pair of shoes, while keeping his children from pulling everything off the counter. It was difficult to contain my laughter because the girls were so cute and the father was so flustered.

Sometimes, I don't think our children are very cute. When I'm in an environment where my kids are pulling everything off the counter, I don't think they are cute at all.

But to onlookers, they probably are.

The lone parent who is doing the best they can to keep their children contained while they complete a simple errand without terrible disruption, may not realize that they are providing validation for someone who really needed it that day.

And quite possibly, a smidge of comic relief.

********

So, I'm training for this "big" race on the Fourth of July, right?

I ran last Saturday with my "team" and then I didn't do anything - not a single thing - except eat an untold number of peanut butter cups and worry "How am I EVER going to get ready for a 10K race in less than two months time?!"

This past Saturday, I skipped the weekly training session with my team because Charlie was still recovering from his hurt back and we had a garage sale that needed to be managed. No running the first week and missing the second team meeting?

That's called being off to a LOSER start.

Yesterday morning, I received an e-mail from my running buddy and fellow triplet mom, Jessica. This is from her e-mail:

"OK - so at yesterday's run ... during "group" (which I did stay for after all) we were continually mentioned in the same breath as the woman with the 5 week old (now 6 week old). e.g. . . "Well. I am finding this running so challenging but I told myself if a woman with a new baby and 2 triplet moms can do it - I can do it!" etc. etc. And now for the topper . . . [our coach] was discussing her group with the President of the whole running group (nationally) - and she wants to FEATURE US (you and me baby) in the National newsletter for June. Oy. Get ready...!"

I ran on Sunday, minutes after receiving Jessica's e-mail, and I'll be running again, tomorrow, Thursday and Saturday.

Because I'm not a runner - never have been a runner - and don't much like the idea of running ... although I love the idea of having a runner's physique and endurance ... I have embraced the "Couch-To-5K" plan that Christine and Lisa suggested. Except I'm doing Couch-To-10K, but I'll be following the same principles of the 5K training outline. Currently, I can't run more than 90 seconds without feeling like my limbs are going to fall off and my lungs are going to explode, but I'm sure that will improve.

It has to.

Nothing motivates one to put down their peanut butter cups and lace up their running shoes like knowing they are going to be FEATURED in a national newsletter in less than a month.

********

Like a bolt of wisdom from the heavens, I recently realized that the reason that Henry hasn't been sleeping very well - is because I am putting him down way too late for his naps. Once I made a minor tweak to his schedule - I remembered that this is exactly what I had to do with the triplets and I couldn't believe that I'd forgotten the fundamental principle for getting a baby to sleep.

Henry wakes up at around 5:00 AM to be nursed. I bring him to bed with me, and he'll nurse and snooze for the next hour and a half. He wakes up, and I try to feed him breakfast by 7:00, no later than 7:30 AM. Up until a week ago, I was keeping him up until 9:00 to go down for his first nap. I know realize that I should have been putting him down before that time, because he was overtired.

And although it seems counter-intuitive, a baby that is overtired doesn't sleep well.

He now goes down for his first nap by no later than 8:00 AM. The first time, he stayed awake for 45 minutes - with a variable amount of crying - before falling asleep for 45 minutes. But since then, once I put him down he will usually fall right to sleep with no crying and will sleep for a solid hour and a half. He is awake again by 9:30 or 10:00.

His second nap of the day happens right after I feed everyone lunch, around 12:30 or 1:00 PM. Although "ideally" I would put him down for his second nap around noon, I keep him up a little later to coincide with when the triplets take their nap.

Henry will sleep for anywhere from an hour and a half to two hours in the afternoon, while the triplets will sleep anywhere from two to three hours. Sometimes, I'll give him a pacifier to extend the nap if he wakes up earlier ... because although I said before blah blah pacifiers ... I'm constantly changing my mind about things.

Last week, I could never imagine wanting to have more children. But now that I've got a whole hour and a half to myself during the afternoon, I could see having four more. Hence it appears that not only am I indecisive ... I am mentally unstable.

********

This past weekend during an outing to Balboa Park, we all wore our new Life Is Good t-shirts. We also all wore our Columbia wide-brimmed sport hats, cargo pants, and (those that are walking) Keen shoes. I thought we looked so cool, the six of us, in our matching garb.

We were out of our car for no more than five minutes when a woman came up and started to photograph us. Then, another woman walked over and said "You are SO cute in your matching hats and shirts. Oh my gracious, what a cute, cute family!!"


Charlie shot me a look before pulling off his hat and putting on a sweatshirt. Then, he exasperatedly said "Jen, I am not cute. Nor will I wear things that will provoke absolute strangers to come up and tell me that I am. I'll never do this again. Wearing matching outfits is CORNY."

Yesterday, as we were driving in the car, the song "Green Eyes" by Cold Play came on the radio. Charlie told me that he has been practicing this song on his guitar and has changed the words from "Green Eyes" to "Blue Eyes". He said that this song brings tears to his eyes every time he hears it. But even still, he is planning to sing this song while strumming his guitar, at both of our daughter's weddings.

*chortle*

I bet the girls would love that.

So long as he isn't wearing his wide brimmed Columbia hat, that wouldn't be corny at all.

If both of our daughters elope ... the mystery isn't lost on me.

we're possessed

The only time that I ever lose my patience with our children, is when I have something to do and they are interfering with my completion of that task.

For instance.

I need to fold the laundry. I fold it and put it in the basket, they take it out and scatter it around the house. I need to clean up the floor because contractors are coming any moment, to rip out and replace some of our hardwood. They are two steps behind me making twice as large of a mess as what I just cleaned up. I need to make a phone call. They run around screaming like banshees at the top of their lungs. I need to sit down and pay the bills. On the rare occasion I don't pay online, I reach for my checkbook and it has been hijacked and decorated with PWINCESS stickers. I want to go to sleep. They don't. I need to go from Point A to Point B. They take off their shoes, often times - all of their clothes - and run in the opposite direction.

They pick up and chew used gum from the sidewalk, lick the receiver on a public pay phone and cause sheer chaos at every turn. Just because.


When they were infants, it was definitely easier. I could secure them behind a gate and there they would stay while I did what I needed to do.

Today, when I was cleaning up from lunch and I thought the kids were napping, I looked outside to see Elizabeth sitting naked in the sandbox playing with random parts of Charlie's new BBQ that have not yet been assembled because my husband is incapacitated.

Then there's Carolyn and her refusal to poop in the potty. She's not constipated. She is perfectly able to go, she just won't until she is in a diaper. A diaper that she must wear at night because otherwise she will wet the bed that she shares with her sister. The one time I tried to use a waterproof pad at night, she wound up sleeping on top of the blankets and drenching her quilt and down comforter. This is quite unlike William, who also wasn't constipated, but declared an all-out poop strike and wouldn't go at all and would stress and strain and grunt and groan just to keep it in.

Good times, people.

Good times.

I'll never forget my mother telling me, when the triplets were babies, that I always need to be kind to them. That sounded simple enough when I was looking at my helpless premature infants. Of course I would always be kind to them, why would I not?!

Now I know.

I am trying to get something, anything done, and they make the completion of even the simplest task infinitely more difficult. I'll tell them "Children! Children!! I want to spend every waking moment focused on you and only you. But I must have a few moments to myself so that I can complete this one thing. I must prepare food for us to eat or we will all perish. Believe me, if we would all thrive eating Doritos, meal time would never be an issue, again!!"

So I lose my patience on a colossal scale, because when I turned around to take out ingredients from the refrigerator, someone knocked the baby down and he hit his head on the floor. And somebody else is bending the curtain rod because they are using our drapes to swing like Tarzan. And somebody else just pulled an entire dozen of eggs off the counter and they splattered all over the floor. And that empty paper towel roll that I had moments earlier, lovingly handed to them to use as a telescope is now something that I snatch back and smack them over the heads with.

Oh, they try to run. But their little legs are not NEARLY as fast as mine.

As I'm doing this, I'm beating myself up for being a terrible mother, yet find myself unable to get a grip. Then, there is the verbal barrage that is now being directed at my invalid husband who gives me a look that says "You might be overreacting just a bit" and although I know I am overreacting, I am tired because I haven't had more than four hours of sleep in at least a year and I am frustrated that he tried to lift a five-burner grill ALL BY HIMSELF on to our wagon for transport to the back yard, while I was at the park with his spawn children.


He knows not to do this kind of lifting on his own, because he has a bad back. But does he ever listen?? The correct answer is NO, instead of waiting for me to come home and help, he tried to do it all by himself so he could surprise me with a nice dinner.

I'm absolutely certain he told me that so I wouldn’t kill him on the spot.

Add to that, we have our neighborhood yard sale tomorrow morning and although this was something Charlie was excited to handle, it’s now something I must handle. And at this point, watching the kids while also trying to manage a yard sale sounds more painful than trying to run two-miles in under 30 minutes.

All of these topics, and then some, come in to our conversation.

The $350.00 glasses that he lost at the swimming pool, the bunny that Elizabeth lost at the museum, the giraffe that Carolyn lost at the park, the one shoe that William lost when he kicked it out of the back of the car before I closed the sliding door - from the front.

The mind that I have lost, long ago.

I was talking with a co-worker about this absolutely insane period of my life and why it is that things seem so chaotic. Then it dawned on me.

I told her "You know what I need?"

She nodded her head and said "A nanny."

And I said, "No. An exorcist."

no end in sight

Charlie's down for the count. He told my mother that he was feeling "much better" when she called tonight, and I suppose that is true, but it's also true that my husband doesn't complain. Sure, he's feeling better. But his description of "better" is that his back doesn't go in to a muscle spasm with every breath he takes.

Now, it just spasms whenever he sneezes. Or laughs. Or chokes.

We figured that last one out when Carolyn was feeding him tortilla chips while he laid on the floor today at lunch time. None of the pain medicine that he's taken has done anything to relieve his discomfort, so I suggested that he start drinking.

Here's Charlie, laying on the floor eating Mexican food and drinking beer at 11:30 this morning.


While I was running around taking the kids to swimming lessons, cleaning the house, doing laundry, making breakfast, making lunch, cleaning up breakfast, cleaning up lunch, struggling with Henry who is suddenly turbo-crawling-baby in to everything ... I almost kicked my beloved and ailing husband when he asked if I would move the vacuum because it was blocking his view of the television. And oh, could he have another beer?

If it wasn't so painful, I'd seriously consider throwing my back out.

I'd love to have a few days completely off.

******

I am honestly at my wits end with potty training. I've got one child who WILL. NOT. go poop on the potty. I know she knows how to do it. Like all her siblings, she did it once when we first got the potty chairs and I was so darn excited because I thought "Hooyah! I'm done potty training triplets ... that was easy!!"

She hasn't really gone since.

Except once, two weeks ago when my sister was in town and we were on our way to swim lessons, and she was walking around holding her rear end and saying "Oh oh!! Oh oh!!" and I told her that if she didn't go poop on the potty, she couldn't go to class.

Her MO is to hold it in until she has a diaper on at bedtime. She will either go within 10 minutes of being tucked in at night ... or ... she will wake me up with a full diaper first thing in the morning. Try as I might to get her to go before bedtime, she won't.

I've been staying with her until she falls asleep at night and have been waking up before she does, and whipping off her diaper as soon as I see her eyes open. I'm like a hawk perched outside her door ... waiting, waiting.

Yesterday, it was obvious she really had to go since it had been at least two days since she'd had any "time alone" with her diaper. But every time I'd have her sit on the potty, she'd never complete the act. There were lots of previews, but no performance. She kept standing up to check if there was anything in the pot, and there were smears everywhere. All over the potty chair - her legs - her clothes - the wall.

I was DYING from the poop.

I think it's important to mention that I was born right on the cusp of Aries and Taurus which are the Ram and the Bull. Depending upon which newspaper I read, my horoscope will be one or the other. Astrologically, I don't think there's a more stubborn personality out there.

It's really not my fault. It's because of the planets that yesterday and again, tonight ... I went head to head with my three-year-old. I offered her TWO Trader Joe Peanut Butter cups for when she finally went poop. She was so excited and pretended like she was pushing, pushing. She even held my hand. But when she stood up again (and again and again), all she did was create new smears. So I sat down, right in front of her, and ate a peanut butter cup for every time that she didn't go.

She never did go and I ate 3/4 of a box.

Then I felt sick, which kharmically, I totally deserved.

Tonight, almost the same exact scene played out. Except tonight, two of my other children - who had already gone poop on the potty earlier in the day - sat down and went poop AGAIN just so they could score Trader Joe Peanut Butter Cups. Meanwhile, my poor un-pooped child was nearly hysterical that she wasn't going to get a Peanut Butter Cup. But I kept telling her, push out the poop and I'll give you TWO. Heck, I'll give you TWENTY TWO. I'll buy you your very own BOX.

Finally.... after a solid hour ...... she did it.

There was a poop!! In the potty!!

I gave her the two Peanut Butter Cups, embraced her in a huge hug and kept repeating how proud I was of this big accomplishment. After a while, I put her in a diaper, brushed her teeth and tucked her in to bed. THREE HOURS LATER, she came out to tell me that she'd gone poop.

A BIG POOP.

In her diaper.

Charlie laughed - then cringed - and I began to weep.

why montessori

I've long held the belief that no one can do as good of a job raising our children as we can.

No one will shower them with love and affection the way that we will. No one will care for them as completely as we do. No one can teach them kindness, patience, compassion, respect and civility the way that we will. No one has longed for these children the way that we have - nor have they gone through hell and back to get them - so no one could possibly be as good to them or for them, as we are.

I never held any preconceived notions before I was a parent about whether or not I would send our children to preschool. But once I became a mother and I imagined dropping off my precious little children with someone who was being paid to watch them, I broke out in emotional hives.

Up until recently I have held firmly to the belief that our children do not need school. They would receive all of the positive stimulation, love, education, and structure necessary at this point in their lives, from me ... their mother.

Fast forward to present day.

I love my kids with all of my heart and soul. But at this stage in their young lives, I'd guess that around 60, maybe even 70% of their waking hours, I don't like them very much. They drive me more insane than should be allowable by law. Sure, we do some wonderful things together and this past year that I have spent home with them full-time has been the absolute best year of my life.

However.

It can be extremely difficult at times. On the one hand, I want to "always" be a positive role model for my children, and on the other hand I want for them to leave the toilet paper roll alone. I want for them to stop destroying everything that they touch. I want for them to stop beating each other up. I want for them to stop teasing each other, incessantly. I want to stop setting up one project - only to have them bore of it - and abandon that project to start another project before I have even processed that they have moved on. I want to stop feeling like I am running around in circles trying to positively stimulate our kids, from the time I pick my head up from my pillow until the time I put it back down again.

I want for them to stop screaming and whining and fighting and throwing tantrums about anything ranging from the underwear they are wearing to the fact that the SUN IS SHINING.

Recently, I have determined that I want to give our children more than what I, alone, am able to provide. I want to give them a better me.

A kinder, more patient mother.

A more compassionate, gentle teacher.

Charlie and I are trying to create the best home environment that we possibly can for our children. Yet, very often, I will struggle with guilt because I know that I am not the embodiment of patience and virtue that I really want to be. The job of a mother, is also the job of a teacher. And although I am wonderfully proud of many things that I have taught our children ... when I see my three-year-olds grab at their hair and yell "Sweet Jaysus!", I feel like crawling in a hole.

In the Discovery of the Child, Dr. Maria Montessori states "…every defect of character is due to some wrong treatment sustained by the child during his early years".

I totally believe that.

My mother has always said "Give me a child until they are seven and I will give you the man." This was the Jesuit motto, alleged to be attributed to Francis Xavier, the co-founder of the Jesuit Order. The implication, here, is that the best opportunity to indoctrinate a person in a lifetime of belief and devotion to religious dogma is when they are young. But the first few years of life are so important - for reasons beyond religious dogma.

According to Dr. Montessori, during the first six years of life, "a child becomes a member of their culture and their family. They absorb language, manners, values and attitudes of those in which they interact. If they spend the first six years in a loving and supportive environment, a child learns to love themself and feel safe in the world. A child who has experienced the joy of making a contribution to her family or group, learns to love making an effort, and feels needed.

Every child, by instinct, wants to learn and grow to the limit of his abilities. In the first six years of life they do this by imitating those around themselves. To support this need we must carefully prepare the physical and social environment, provide tools that enable the child to work to create himself, watch for those first tentative moments of concentration, and get out of the way, following the child as his path unfolds."

From the research that I have done - and from the observations I have made - I am convinced that the education our children receive in the first six years of their lives, will be the most important education that they receive during their entire life time. The first six years is the time that the foundation is laid upon which all other educations will be built. Most important, perhaps, is that this is the time in their lives in which our children's character is developed.

I have visited and interviewed several preschools. But when I first sat in on a Montessori classroom, I was moved to tears. (Not to be confused with when I first saw the tuition fee schedule, and began to sob.) I could not believe that the small children I observed were so disciplined and positively engaged in their activities. What surprised me the most is that when Charlie sat in on a class a few weeks later, he had almost the exact same response.

We both had the impression that the children we observed were thriving as they graciously moved from one activity to the next. These children were being challenged independently of any teacher or specific curriculum. We imagined our children being a part of this group. We imagined them learning from the older children, teaching the younger children. We imagined them having the opportunity to be away from one another - for a few hours each day - so that they could have a sense of self. We imagined them coming home and talking in hushed whispers and cleaning up after themselves.

We imagined the kind of vacations we could take with the money spent on tuition, or the years we would shave off our mortgage payment. And ultimately, we decided that although I need to return to work so that we could foot the bill for Montessori, this quite likely, may be the best investment we could ever make in our children's education and subsequently, our children's future. Yes. I feel that strongly about it.

And if they actually do learn to clean up after themselves, I'd be willing to pay twice as much.

Our triplets will begin Montessori school, this September. They will be attending five days a week, part-time, for three hours a day. Truth be told, this is still a little difficult for me, because we do so many things during the early morning weekdays that I know we'll miss. But, I'm hopeful that we'll have ample opportunity to visit the museums, zoo, nature center, library and a host of other locations, in the afternoon.

I have weighed the options.

I have thought about the advantages and disadvantages of sending them to school. I have thought about their childhood and how important it is that they are free to enjoy themselves. I have thought about how they may potentially be in school for 16+ years and how I only have this short period of time with them, as small children.

But I do not see Montessori as a restricted, overbearing educational environment. In contrast, I see it as a wonderful opportunity for our children to have structured time, every day, to explore, discover and develop a deep love of learning. I also see it as an opportunity for me to learn more about becoming a better teacher (and mother) for our children. Since I am entertaining the notion of homeschooling - I think that the skills that we learn in Montessori now, will be critically important for our success, later on.

At this point in time, I do not believe that with the appropriate books, tools and equipment, I would be able to effectively replicate a Montessori environment in our home. I think that our children need to be with a teacher who is trained in the Montessori method and I think that they need the classroom experience and the time away from each other to build their independence, confidence and sense of individuality.

But I also feel assured that even with school five days a week, our children will still have plenty of time to continue their training for the Couch Olympics.


In their underwear.

the new phone book's here!

We just received a brand spanking new phone book on our doorstep.

Once I opened it up to see that we were listed ... I did a little jig and said "I'm somebody now! Millions of people look at this book everyday! This is the kind of spontaneous publicity - your name in print - that makes people. I'm in print! Things are going to start happening to me now!!"*

Then I promptly threw it in our recycle bin while wondering if anyone who has a computer actually uses a phone book anymore.

*Be the first to name that movie and I'll send you a box of Trader Joe Peanut Butter Cups. No guarantees though, that I'll get to the post office before Halloween. And tell me, do you use a phone book?

wednesday

I have so many things to write about, that I am nearly incapacitated with where to begin. Soon, I will write much. But first, I have to drive back to the Train Museum 45 minutes away, where Elizabeth lost one of her two bunnies earlier today. Luckily, when I called Lost And Found, someone had just turned it in.

I also need to help my husband who has completely thrown his back out during the course of building his new 5-burner barbecue and is currently, unable to walk. Can I just say HALLELUJAH his back didn't go out before he finished building the swing set for the kids??

Then I need to coordinate with Lowe's the break out and re-installation of new hardwood floors in at least two of four rooms in our house. Why? Because it seems that last year, the contractor that Lowe's hired to do this work, didn't consider the results from the moisture test completed before hand and used the wrong glue. Now, we've got entire planks that are coming up. Ooops.

I need to get organized for our community yard sale this Saturday. Because I'm in the throes of Spring Cleaning, I need to exercise great restraint and not throw out things that I might need again. Things like my scale. Or massaging foot bath.

And I need to go out and run, because I haven't been since last Saturday. Since I've already paid the money for the race and will soon have a t-shirt ... I'm committed. If it wasn't for the $160.00 I've shelled out, my plans for this evening would involve nothing more than sitting on the couch next to my immobile husband, and waving bye-bye to Jason Castro.

People talk about the endorphin rush that you get from running. I get an endorphin rush from writing. When I sit down and successfully unload my thoughts, I feel lighter than air and have a high that lasts all day.

Blogging. Jogging.

If only typing would help me lose my flabby thighs, I'd be cut.

it's not just me

Today was my first real day back to work. Last Thursday didn't really count because I dropped my computer off for updates and then spent the rest of the day at the Long Beach Aquarium.

But today, still computerless, I spent an entire day in a meeting. The first two hours of the meeting were spent on a conference call. Twenty minutes in to it, while my co-workers were going back and forth on an issue that has persisted since before I went on maternity leave (the first time), I shot Charlie - who was at swimming lessons with the children - a text message from my phone.

"How RU?"

The conference call continued. While I sat there, listening to issues that I suspect will never be completely resolved and which will only cause great heartache and headache and pain because as soon as they come close to being resolved, they will evolve in to different issues that will require meetings and e-mails and conference calls, I couldn't help but think that if I wasn't sitting right there at that very moment, I would be with my wonderful, beautiful children - who I missed very much - coercing them to pee in the shower at the Y.

I sent my husband another text message.

"I am ready to turn my cell phone over to my boss and walk out."

When he still didn't respond, I sent another one.

"Why the heck am I doing this again??"

Then seconds later, another one.

"The kids need ME more than they need Montessori school."

A half hour later, I sent another one.

"RU ignoring me?"

Then 10 minutes later...

"This isn't getting any better. Plz call school and get our $$ back."

When I still didn't hear from Charlie, I excused myself from the meeting and called my husband. I told him that I had reservations about being back at work. Why was I doing this to myself?? Why did I have myself convinced that it was so important for the kids to go to school? We could afford for me to stay home. Why was I spending time sitting in a meeting regarding something that was nowhere as important as spending time with my children??

Why??

Instead of supporting my immediate decision to quit, Charlie told me that he loved being home. He LOVED it. He wanted to arm wrestle me to stay home because he could seriously see doing this every single day, he loved it so much. He wasn't feeling short tempered with the kids, not even when they wet their pants and two soaked our couch. Unlike me, when they did the same exact thing the day before and I envisioned hurling all three of them over our back fence before calling my husband at work and telling him to bring home lots of wine.

Charlie didn't even think Henry would need to be nursed at lunch time, today, because he was doing so well. Then he told me that the kids are getting older and they need school. They need the structure. They need the time apart from each other. They need that small break during the day away from us. He urged me to give it a little more time. He guaranteed that very soon, I would appreciate my time away.

By the end of the day, I had found my groove. The conference call was finally over and I was discussing all of my projects, that I have worked on for the past 10 years, with excitement and enthusiasm. There is so much to do!! We have meetings with regulators scheduled and more meetings with property owners and attorneys. I get to order new business cards and a new cell phone and a new day planner and a wireless card for my laptop that is illuminated blue!!

At around 4 PM, I called Charlie to check in and see how he was doing. He whispered that Henry had finally fallen asleep five minutes prior and this was the first time, all day, that he had any quiet in the house. In the span of our three minute conversation - when Charlie told me that taking care of the triplets is one full-time job, but taking care of Henry is a full-time job in and of itself ... all four of the children woke up and were crying. When I told him that I was leaving and I'd be home soon, he gave a deep sigh and said "Oh Thank God." Then he urged me to please bring home wine.

Lots of wine.

***

He is truly amazing. Not only did he talk me down from the ledge of throwing in the towel on my career today, he juggles the morning fruit ... before using it to make fresh juice.


So what if he took the kids to swimming in his pajama bottoms because he never had a spare moment to get dressed? (Oh, but I kid.)

month ten: in review

Yesterday, marked the 10-month anniversary of your birth. I sat down to write this review, but all of the blood flow in my body had been routed to my legs and I couldn't think of anything to write except "Oh my God I love this baby. I LOVE HIM, LOVE HIM, LOVE HIM!"


A day later, I still can't think of much more to tell you. But I'll also write that if at some point in your life you don't do any "serious" exercise for several years, it's best not to go out and run two miles. If you do, you'll pathetically hobble around like you've got a load in your pants and pray that your legs don't buckle out from beneath you with each step you take. The fact is, Henry, at 10-months old, you are walking better than your mama.


Enough about my pathetic state of fitness. This is about you, my beautiful baby boy. You continue to grow by leaps and bounds and I find myself falling more in love with you every day. You are crawling at warp speed. You can be on one side of the house and if you hear me open the refrigerator - or dishwasher - or back door - or gasp, toilet lid ... you will zoom over and be next to me, in the center of action, in no time flat. You share the same fascination that your siblings have, of getting in to absolutely everything.


Although you haven't yet taken your first unassisted step, you are cruising around all of the furniture and love to hold my hands and walk across the room. You love to splash in the water table, go for rides in the swing, blow raspberries and do a little Indian call of "oh ah oh ah oh ah ohhh" with your hand across your mouth. You still only have two teeth, although it looks like more are ready to pop out on top. You are jabbering up a storm with "Dada, Deedee, Lala and MAMAMAMAMA" which are the most proficient babbles in your repertoire at the moment.


You are loved by everyone. Except Carolyn. I'm not sure what has happened, but it seems that she has come to a place where you are nothing more than an inconvenience set out to ruin her STUFF and she will scream any time you come within five feet. Although you were able to bring an ear-to-ear smile to Grampy's face (which is quite an accomplishment) and William and Elizabeth still think you are the best thing since ice cream, whenever you get near Gracie, she'll holler "NO HENRY! NO!!!!"


But you pay her no mind, because you are extremely easy going. You don't even mind when your father does crazy things with your hair and eyebrows.


The only thing that you don't like is sleep. Sure, on occasion, you will embrace your morning and afternoon nap. But try as I might, you will protest anytime I put you down in to your crib. When you do fall asleep (during the day), you will only sleep for 45 minutes. Not a minute more. Most nights, you are asleep by 7:30 PM and will wake up sometime between 3:30 and 5:15 AM, for a quick nurse before falling back to sleep until 5:59 AM. The longest you've ever slept is when the laundry got a little out of hand and I was five a few loads behind and didn't have any clean pajamas for you. So, I put you in to your sister's size 3T and you slept from 8 PM until 6 AM. Then there was the time Elizabeth threw a huge Curious George stuffed animal in to your crib and you took a two-hour nap sleeping on top of it. I've tried replicating these scenarios with no success. But I'll continue to try. If you have memories of sleeping in a crib in pink pajamas that are three sizes too big with a huge monkey ... this is why.


With all the crawling and climbing that you have been doing, it seems logical that you would be tired at the end of a long day.


But you're simply too busy. There are places to explore, snails to munch, clothes baskets to ride, and new foods to eat.


Yesterday, while I was holding you close in the pool, I felt to the depth of my soul that you are a divine miracle. You are the light of my life. And even when you are crawling towards a full potty chair - or waking me up in the middle of the night - or not sleeping more than 45 minutes during the day - or gumming a snail - or crying and I've got three other children that all need my attention AT THAT EXACT SAME MOMENT and dinner needs to be cooked and there are five a few loads of laundry to be processed and a dog to be fed and a career to be contemplated and a host of other life issues to be considered ... I love you more than words can express and I thank God every day that you are here.


"Oh my God I love this baby. I LOVE HIM, LOVE HIM, LOVE HIM!"

most people walk faster

This morning, bright and early, I met with a group of about 20 women who are training for a 10K run on the Fourth of July. A couple of the women are training for marathons - a few have run marathons - and at least two are pregnant. One of the women that was there just gave birth five weeks ago.

We stretched for a little while and then, I thought maybe they'd have us walk/run for a half-mile or so to get us non-runners acclimated to running. Instead, someone stood by with a stop watch and timed how long it took us to run two-miles.

Two miles might not seem like a far distance to run. But trust me, if you're not a runner and never ran in your life (except that one time you did a 5K run in South Carolina and collapsed on the finish line only to find yourself sitting in the back of an ambulance while a paramedic was trying to feed you a popsicle ... and then that other time when you ran a 10K, and spent the last mile debating whether or not you should load your dead-last-place-behind in to the ambulance that was trailing you on the course), two miles is a very long distance to run.

While on this two-mile run, my friend and training companion, Jessica, dropped the bomb that oh, yeah, a few years ago ... she ran a marathon in Hawaii. Here I was thinking that I was getting in to this whole gig with someone that was as pathetic on the running front as me. But no. My training companion ran a marathon in five hours. In Hawaii. Where there are steep hills, lava flows, high temperatures and humidity. And beautiful beaches where I'd much rather spend five hours, burrowing my toes in the sand and sipping on some tropical concoction that was accessorized with a tiny paper umbrella.

Today, we had a flat course and it took me 29 minutes and some odd seconds to run two-miles. At that rate, it would take me 13 hours to run a marathon. Probably longer, because I doubt I would have been able to keep up my pace for long.

Seriously. I'm convinced I can walk two miles in less time than it took me to run them. When I walk, I am at least able to carry on a conversation. Any time I tried to say something more than my name while running today, I saw stars.

I'm not giving up, though. I'm going to run 15-20 minutes twice this week as our coach suggests and then I'm going to do two other cross-training activities this week. Probably swimming one day and maybe a bike ride the next. Or, if I'm short on time, I'll pull out my jump rope. When I was a kid, I remember jump roping for hours. But when I tried jump roping a few years ago, I was able to get my feet over the rope no more than ten times before falling down in a panting heap of sweat.

Returning home from my "run" this morning, I laid on the floor and watched the kids jumping on the couch. I really thought that I was in much better shape than I am.


It seems that raising four children works a whole different muscle group.

this, I believe

My first day back to work went great.

Even though I called our computer help desk six weeks ago to inform them that I would be coming back to work, and then called them again four weeks ago, and again two weeks ago to make absolutely certain that they had received all the necessary approvals from management to activate all of my computer accounts ... when I drove three hours to Los Angeles yesterday, upon my arrival, nothing had been done to prepare for my return to work.

Their response?

"Well, yes, we do have a record that you called on three separate occasions to inform us that you were coming back after a 10-month leave of absence and that your computer was not operational, but you didn't specifically indicate that you needed to have your main LAN account activated. From our records, it's been disabled and needs to be re-enabled and in order to do that, we need to have management approval. We'll mark it high priority."

My response?

"Well, yes, I suppose even though I called and told you that ALL of my accounts needed to be reactivated on three separate occasions, this is my fault. It kind of reminds me of that time I went out to buy a car and I didn't specifically indicate that I wanted to have TIRES to go with it. See, without having the LAN account re-enabled, my computer is nothing more than a piece of useless plastic. My mistake for thinking that the people in the IT department would know that. Here, let me have it back so I can SMACK myself a few times over the head with it."

Thankfully, I had zero expectations going back to work that anything would be accomplished, so Charlie and I met with my friend Lorie and we spent a glorious day at the Long Beach Aquarium.

Meanwhile my computer sat on a technician's desk waiting for the "high priority" approval to reactivate my account to be processed. Thirty two hours later, it is still sitting there.

Waiting.

This just proves my theory that if you go in to something with lowered expectations, you're less likely to suffer from increased disappointment. It also proves my theory that the larger the company you work for, the more bureaucracy there is to deal with.

We returned home late last night. But instead of going straight to bed, I decided to detox from spending six hours on the road, by browsing through various blogs and headline news.

You know what I saw?

Several posts about the concerns surrounding plastic water bottles. Word on the street is that toxic chemicals are leaching out of plastic (and canned products) and this can have detrimental health impacts on people, particularly children if they are exposed during critical stages of their development. The culprit, bisphenol A, a developmental, neural, and reproductive toxicant which is commonly used to make clear polycarbonate plastic for consumer products.

Armed with this information, people around the world are tossing their reusable water bottles (i.e. Nalgene) in to the trash and buying aluminum or stainless steel varieties. They are feeding their babies with glass bottles. They are ditching all things plastic.

I read a few articles on this topic and could feel my heart start to beat out of my chest.

The U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found bisphenol A in the urine of over 95% of people they tested and, alarmingly, the median level of bisphenol A in humans is higher than the level that causes adverse effects in animal studies.

OH MY GOSH!

Our triplet babies were all fed with plastic bottles. They eat off of plastic plates and drink out of plastic cups. Their vitamins are in a plastic canister. I feed Henry fruit puffs and on occasion baby food, that are packaged in plastic containers. Our apple juice comes in a plastic container. So does our milk. And our vanilla. And all of our condiments. And my Trader Joe Peanut Butter Cups!!!


For a moment, I imagined throwing out everything plastic in our house. I was prepared to spend a small fortune on new water bottles and plates and bowls and cups and mugs. I even found discount codes, although I don't know if they are still valid, for purchasing SIGG water bottles at 30% off, and Klean Kanteens for 20% off. Then, I went to bed wondering how many more days I had left on this planet and what kind of irreparable damage I have inadvertently done to my offspring?

Today, I've come to terms with the fact that we just aren't safe.

Because we drive vehicles that use gasoline which contaminates our air and water; run our homes with electricity that is contributing to global warming; and purchase food that is grown somewhere other than our backyard, we are negatively impacting our land and our bodies.

If our microwave ovens don't give us brain cancer, our cell phones will. Toxins or suspected toxins, are bio-accumulating in our body. Among them, C8 from the teflon on our pans and dioxins from the lumber industry. Harmful pesticides and herbicides and hormones are used in, on and around our food.

There's groundwater pollution and air pollution. There's thimersol in vaccinations that may possibly be linked to autism. There are additives and preservatives in food that lead to attention deficit disorder and hyperactivity. There's high blood pressure, high cholesterol, hypertension, arthritis, congestive heart failure, obesity, infertility, early onset of menopause, and erectile dysfunction - which have all been linked to the food that we eat.

Unfortunately, bisphenol A is a key ingredient of that bubble I have been living in.

Sometimes, I allow myself to buy in to the hysteria. Then, I come to my senses because I work as an environmental engineer in an industry where hysteria over contaminants are common and because I know that there are entities and "studies" out there that hype up everything, just to get the masses in to a frenzy.

The truth is, at some point, you need to draw the line. To exist in this world, in this day and age, without driving yourself constantly insane about what is harming us - or might harm us - you must draw the line.

I believe that our children are more at risk of becoming ill from not receiving a vaccination than from receiving it. I believe that eating organic is overall, a more environmentally friendly way to live, but I don't believe it is saving me from cancer. I don't live wholly organic because I can't justify spending $4.00 on a bag of cranberries, when I can spend $1.00 on the same quantity, and apply the $3.00 savings towards Montessori school.

I believe in recycling. We recycle at least twice as much as what we throw in the trash each week. But the reason that we recycle so actively, is because our City has appealed to their citizens laziness. They have provided us with huge recycle bins and do not require that we separate paper from plastic from glass.

I believe in wearing your seat belt and driving a vehicle with air bags; eating fruits, vegetables and drinking water as opposed to soda; and wearing adequate sun protection coverage and clothing when in the sun between the hours of 10 AM and 2 PM. I do not believe that my tap water will hurt me. I have a carbon filter on my refrigerator for taste and a water softener so I don't have to deal with hard water spots in the shower.

I believe that we should all do our part to pick up trash where we see it, walk or ride a bicycle whenever we can, turn off lights if we're not using them - and every so often, turn off all the energy and use candles. I also believe in turning off the television and getting outside. I believe in reducing clutter and living within your financial means. I believe in having meals together and reading books to your children. I believe in beautiful wooden toys as opposed to cheap plastic ones. I believe it is much more important to shower your child with your time and your love than to shower them with gifts and objects.

I believe the things that save us today, will be the subject of the things that kill us, tomorrow.


I believe in consumer advocacy. I've met Ralph Nader twice and sat next to him once on an airplane. I believe that there are things in this world that are bad for you and I believe that knowledge is power. But I believe that the knowledge shouldn't solely come from research on the internet which may or may not be accurate. I also believe that the mass hysteria that sweeps the world regarding things like lead in children's toys ... methyl tertiary butyl ether in gasoline ... boycotting items made and exported from China ... and now, plastic in water bottles is probably more harmful than the objects themselves.

I believe that lack of exercise, poor dietary habits, lack of sleep and the stress exerted over political matters, financial matters, environmental matters, neighborhood matters, family matters and questioning if the safety of the water we drink, food we eat, air we breathe and plastics we use are more to blame for attention deficit disorder and hyperactivity, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, hypertension, arthritis, congestive heart failure, obesity, infertility, early onset of menopause, and erectile dysfunction.

I believe that Charlie has a stronger stomach than me.

He just came in the house to tell me that he dug a snail out of Henry's mouth. Apparently, my baby gummed it to death. Charlie walked in to the house with an outstretched hand and what remained of a shell and slimy mass. He told me that he was wondering what Henry was chewing on about the same time he saw his mouth start to foam.


I must end this post now.

For I believe I'm going to barf.

delusions of grandeur

Tomorrow, I'm due to return back to work. Because I've been on maternity leave for the past 10-months, all of the passwords on my work laptop need to be reset and several software and hardware updates need to be installed. Since I have a home office and work from a "remote location", I'll be driving three hours north to Los Angeles to one of our Information Technology centers to have all of this work completed.

Did I mention that I'm not planning to wean Henry?

Or that I'm not planning to pump?

Because I'm a glutton for punishment it is so important to me that I continue nursing Henry until either he or I decides that we've had enough, Charlie and all four children are going with me to Los Angeles, on my first day back to work. Charlie will also be bringing the baby to me on Tuesday of next week, so that I can nurse him during lunch time, when I'll be meeting with my boss and one of my co-workers and several of my consultants during a project transfer.

My husband is also planning to accompany me to my quarterly meetings so the baby is never too far from the boob. Or, more appropriately, the boob is never too far from the baby. We're slated to go to Seattle in July and Palm Springs in October.

Yesterday, I registered the kids for Montessori which is scheduled to begin in September.

Today, I woke up thinking that I'd made a foolish mistake. Not because the expense of sending three children to Montessori is great ... but because they are too young to be going off to school five days a week for three hours a day. And moreover, do I really want to go back to work when I could be home playing with the kids everyday? I mean, the primary reason I am returning to work is so that I can afford the cost of Montessori.

Before I called the bank to cancel the check, I talked to Charlie.

He reminded me of all the reasons we had for sending our kids to Montessori in the first place. I'll write about all that later, but suffice to say ... the reasons are good great. He also reminded me that when I am working part-time, two days a week - from our house - he will be home to look after Henry while the kids are in school. And then, he'll look after the kids when they come home from school, so I can continue working.

On Monday, Wednesday and Friday, Charlie will drop the kids off to school on his way to work while I stay home with Henry. I'll have a three hour break in the morning before I need to go and pick them up from school. This will be my opportunity to go grocery shopping, fold laundry, check in on work-related items, or lay on the floor and watch the ceiling fan.

We'll have the entire afternoon to do fun things together - and because the children were separated from each other for the bulk of the day - they will be happy, loving, peaceful little creatures with wings sprouting from their back.

On Tuesday and Thursday, Charlie will drop the kids off to school and have a three hour break, with just Henry, before he needs to pick the kids up from school. I will either be at home working, or in one of my consultant's offices working, and have a full day to myself.

Let me say that again.

I'll have a full day TO MYSELF.

Charlie gets to spend more time at home with the children and with me.

I get two full days to myself.

Our children meanwhile, by attending school, will have the opportunity to spend a little time away from each other and a little time to research, explore, discover and interact with other children and a teacher - and understand how things work in a classroom.

By the time they start Montessori in September, they will be almost four years old and I plan to keep them in Montessori through Kindergarten. Even though we could start them in Kindergarten as early as next year, I can already see that it would be too soon and I see NO rush to start the kids in school early. I would much prefer that they be a little bit older, a little bit more physically and emotionally mature.

Although research shows that children who are born prematurely typically catch up by the time they are two, if our children had been born when they were due to arrive (12/21/04), they wouldn't be eligible to begin Kindergarten until 2010. So. That's when I'm planning to start them. And beyond that, I am planning to home school them. At least for a little while. I'm also planning to start them in Suzuki when they turn five.

I'm planning to spend all of next week finishing my posts on organization tips. Including kitchen space, closet space, clothing, shoes, paperwork, garage, car and linens. I'm also planning to write about some of the best toys and activities that I've discovered to do with children.

Then, I'm going to help Charlie start posting on this blog because when he is home with the kids, he'll have nothing better to do during nap time then share with the world his recipes and stories about fatherhood and how AWESOME it is to be married to me. He'll tell you why it is so important that you warm your plates before you place hot food on them. He might also tell you how women are a lot like crock pots and men are a lot like microwaves.

This coming Saturday, at 7:00 AM, I'm planning to begin training for a 10K with my fellow triplet mom, Jessica. Considering I abhor running almost as much as I abhor the thought of getting out of bed before 7:00 AM on a weekend ... this is a big huge step for me. But since I just registered and paid for the training, which will culminate with a race on the Fourth of July (Henry's first birthday ... *sob!*), I'm bound.

What a gift that will be to my self if I am capable of running a 10K on my baby’s first birthday without throwing up a lung. I figure if Charlie can complete a play structure that the manual suggests will take 32 hours, in just under 26 hours, then surely I can run 6.2 miles.


Even if it takes me three days.